


Where no one looks

by Ariana (Ariana_El)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, His Last Vow, Missing Scenes, escaping from hospital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:49:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2620661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariana_El/pseuds/Ariana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's escape from hospital during "His last vow" - some missing scenes from the episode seen through Molly's eyes. A bit of Sherlolly. It's a translation of my Polish story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Help me. SH_

Molly called back after five minutes, frightened why Sherlock had sent her such message from hospital. She had seen him two days ago, when he had been drugged up and white as a sheet, looking almost like the corpses in her morgue. Why did he need her help? She got even more frightened when Sherlock answered her second call.

                “Sherlock? What’s going on? You didn’t pick up...”

                “Hi, Molly. Eeeem, sorry, my phone fell,” said Sherlock. He seemed a bit out of breath.

                “How are you feeling?” asked Molly.

                “Nooot bad,” she heard his insincere reply. “Molly, I must ask you a favour.”

                “What is it?” The pathologist stopped on the corridor leading to the changing room. “What’s the problem?”

                “I need some decent trousers, shoes and a coat,” explained Sherlock. “And a shirt would do. I need to go out.”

                “Sherlock...” sighed Molly. “I know it’s no fun laying in hospital, but where would you like to go? You’re in no shape to...”

                “Molly, it’s not about boredom,” snapped Sherlock, but then he softened. “Please. It’s very important. No one can know, especially John and Mary... Please.”

                Molly bit her lip. She had already heard this tone once. She knew she wouldn’t refuse.

                “I’ll be there in an hour,” she promised. “And you’ll explain what’s the matter,” she added.

                “It might be... complicated,” answered the detective after a moment of silence. “I don’t know if it’s up to me to...”

                “You will tell me and I will decide if it’s really important enough to risk your health,” Molly interrupted him. Sherlock’s lack of concern when it came to his health had unnerved her. “And there is one more condition.”

                “Yes?” Sherlock’s voice was full of resignation. “What now?”

                “Wherever you go, I’m coming with you,” said the pathologist with all the strength she could manage.

                “No way!” protested the detective.

                “Sherlock, this is out of question,” said Molly firmly, cutting all the protests. “I won’t let you go on your own in this condition. And if you don’t promise you won’t move a finger out of your room till I got there, I swear I’m calling everyone right now, from John to Mycroft,” she threatened. “I’m serious.”

                “I know,” sighed Sherlock. “You have my word, I won’t do anything without you... Come after one.”

xxx

                „So? What is it?” asked Molly an hour later, putting a bag with clothes on the bed. She seriously wondered if she should have agreed to that, because Sherlock looked rather unhealthy. Well, she didn’t expect anything else.

                “I need to meet with the person who shot me,” answered Sherlock, putting himself into a sitting position. “On my terms.”

                “Are you out of your mind?” hissed Molly, barely containing herself from shouting. “Or you’re drugged up.”

                “I wish I was,” winced Sherlock. Molly glanced on his morphine and increased the dose without a word. “It’s hard to think with that.”

                “But it works,” the pathologist pointed out, seeing that Sherlock relaxed. “So, who shot you? Greg said that the doctors didn’t allow to interrogate you.”

                “And I did my best to make them do so,” added Sherlock. “That’s the problem, I can’t say who that was without ruining John’s life.”

                “Sherlock, it doesn’t make sense,” said Molly. “You know who shot you, you don’t want to tell anyone and you want to meet them, all to protect John,” she repeated questioningly and the detective nodded his head. “So, who was it?”

                Sherlock hesitated only for a moment. He looked at Molly and answered.

                “Mary Watson.”

                “I beg your pardon?”

                “Mary,” repeated Sherlock impatiently. “I’ve made some assumptions about her motives, but I want to confirm them. I won’t force her to talk to me in here, laying in bed, and certainly not in John’s presence. And if I just tell John, he probably won’t believe me,” he started explaining quickly. “I need to meet Mary alone. If I disappear from the hospital, they will start looking for me, Mary to, because otherwise she would look suspicious.  And she will be anxious. All I have to do is to wait until they split up and then arrange a meeting.”

                “So you just want to go out from here and wait somewhere for few hours?” asked Molly to be sure. “Where?”

                “Not in any place John and Mycroft know about,” replied Sherlock. “I will think of something. Are you happy now?”

                “No,” Molly stopped the detective before he sat up.

                “What else?” whined Sherlock.

                “I won’t allow you to go to any dirty den. You’re right after an operation, you have freshly repaired liver, I won’t let you damage it,” said Molly firmly. “If you want to wait a few hours, we’re going to my place.”

                “Alright,” agreed Sherlock without hesitation and he sat up. He took the trousers from the bag, but before he had a chance to use them, Molly took them from him. “What now?!”

                “Lie down, I’ll do it. Don’t lean and don’t move if you don’t have to,” she ordered and removed the hospital sheet. She had undressed so many stiffs in her morgue that putting the trousers on a cooperative Sherlock wasn’t difficult at all. Because they were going to her flat, she didn’t change his shirt.

                “There’s a bag under the bed,” said Sherlock when Molly finished with the shoes. “Could you?”

                Molly did as requested and found a bag full of drip and sterile needles.

                “Where did you get that from?” she asked, surprised. She didn’t expect Sherlock to be so well prepared.

                “Billy stole,” explained Sherlock. “I won’t last long without morphine and I can’t eat much.. You will know what to do with all this,” he said matter-of-factly. He carefully leaned his legs and stood up, accepting Molly’s help.

                “You sure you’ll make it?” asked Molly doubtfully, watching as Sherlock went across the room. The detective turned to face her and frowned.

                “These are not my clothes,” he said.  “Too big.”

                “Where I was supposed to take your clothes from?” replied Molly with a question. “These are Tom’s, he somehow left them at my place,” she shrugged her shoulders.

                “Ok, I’m not asking.” With Molly’s help, Sherlock put a coat, also not his, and let her grab his arm. He hoped he estimated his strength correctly, because otherwise Molly would be scared and angry. Everything he had to do right now was to make it to her car. He was drugged enough to hope he would succeed.

                “Open the window,” he asked before they left. Seeing Molly’s surprise gaze, he explained with a wicked smile. “Make them wonder how I left.”

                “You know no one in their right mind will believe in you leaving through the window on a second floor?” asked Molly, but she went to open the window. “And then what, through the cornice to the fire stairs? Quite improbable.”

                “But dramatic enough.”

                Molly took the bag and embraced Sherlock again. Walking like that, they could easily pass for a happy couple, content that one of them was leaving hospital. They made it to the lifts without anyone noticing, but then he pathologist stopped.

                “Wait, we have a change of plans,” she said.

                “Hmm?” asked Sherlock, surprised. “I’m fine.”

                “You will ride from here,” replied Molly. There was a wheelchair in the corner and she was about to use it. “Sit down and don’t object, I parked quite far from here.”

                Sherlock agreed, though as it turned up, he was more dependent in this venture than he liked. He slipped on the wheelchair and let Molly lead the way.

 

.

               

 


	2. Chapter 2

                The first part of the plan went without any problems. After a moment of hesitation Molly decided not to give the wheelchair back to the hospital, but she packed it into her car, intending to bring it back later along with Sherlock. It might have been useful to them.

                During the car drive Sherlock almost fell asleep and that was first sign that Molly had given him too much morphine. He tried to fuss about that, but Molly pointed out that thanks to morphine this half -hour journey was painless.

                “A lot has changed,” noticed Sherlock as they went into the flat and Molly allowed him to stand up. He looked into the room, staying close to the wall just in case. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but he stayed silent. Molly suspected he wanted to make a comment about changes from time when she was with Tom, and after they had broken up.

                “Wait a moment, I’ll make the bed. Maybe you should sit down...”

                “I’d rather stand.” Sherlock leaned against the wall and watched Molly  efficiently changing the sheets. He removed his phone from his pocket and started typing quickly.  

                “What are you doing?” asked Molly curiously. “And what are you going to do?”

                “I sent Billy at Baker Street to pick up my clothes,” replied Sherlock subconsciously, never taking eyes off the screen and stopping typing. “I need him to arrange a few things... I need to take into consideration the fact that my absence will soon be discovered and someone is going to start looking for me. Right now he has a chance to sneak to my flat unnoticed.”

                “Billy? That boy you brought along that day?”

                “Yep.” Because Molly finished making the bed, Sherlock stopped supporting the wall and moved. “Ouch!” he hissed, pressing his hand to his injured side.

                “Sherlock?” Molly was already beside him, alarmed. “What’s going on?”

                “No, it’s nothing,” the detective reassured her. “I just didn’t expect the morphine to stop working, that’s all.”

                “We’ll do something about that,” said Molly, trying to comfort him. “But Sherlock? If there’s something wrong, you must tell me at once. All this is risky enough.”

                “I will,” promised Sherlock honestly. “I don’t need more trouble.”

                It took a while before Sherlock settled down in the bed and Molly rearranged his drip.  She brought a glass of water from the kitchen, along with some newspapers, and sat on the bed.

                “Better?”

                “Mmm.”

                “So you could do some explaining,” suggested Molly. “There is quite a lot.”

                Sherlock glanced at the newspapers and rolled his eyes with resignation.

                “You really read that stuff?” he asked, surprised. “Don’t offend your intellect.”

                “I don’t usually, but I saw your name on the first pages and took some out of curiosity,” replied Molly freely. She was waiting for some explanations about Mary Morstan and the shooting, but if Sherlock wanted to explain that tabloid stuff as well, she certainly wasn’t going to stop him. “So what...”

                “What’s the truth from that?” Sherlock cut her off. “Did  I date Janine for a case? Yes. God, what a tiring month.”

                “Quite active, I’d say,” laughed Molly, pointing at one of the headlines suggesting that Sherlock Holmes certainly didn’t waste time in his bedroom for such trivial matters as sleeping.

                “Did I make her wear that ridiculous hat?” Sherlock went on. “No, she put it freely and she somehow found that very funny. Did we have an active sex life with numerous positions, as the article suggests? I managed to avoid that part, though she was regularly sleeping in my bed. I usually wasn’t there.”

                “Ok, I think you can stop now.” Molly stopped him, a bit embarrassed, but then she remembered her own remarks about her love life with Tom. Did Sherlock just discreetly reminded her that?

                “ Well, you asked.”

                “You know, I’d scold you for such manipulating, but I think Janine can defend herself,” said Molly. “Not my business. Tell me better what about Mary Watson.”

                “I happened on her when she was about to kill Magnussen,” replied Sherlock, leaning comfortably against the pillows. “He’s a blackmailer, a very prominent one and with nothing to stop him. And when I say nothing, I really mean that.”

                „Yeah, John mentioned something. You broke into his office to retrieve some letters, right?” remembered Molly.

                “And I was unlucky that Mary decided to use the fact that John was going to help me. She didn’t know it was about Magnussen and she broke into his office at the same time to kill him,” explained Sherlock. “It’s not my way of working, but I think I can see why she chose such drastic solution. Magnussen shouldn’t walk freely, he’s far too dangerous. Though my brother thinks he can be ‘useful’,” he spat with contempt. “Well, try to discuss with Mycroft...”

                “Why would Mary want to kill him? And for God’s sake, why did she almost kill you?”

                “She shot me, not kill me,” corrected Sherlock.

                “Almost killed you,” repeated Molly stubbornly. “Has nobody told you? They almost lost you in the ambulance and then later, during surgery,” she said. “So tell me, why do you want to meet her instead of saying out loud what happened?”

                “Because Magnussen has something on her, otherwise she wouldn’t choose such solutions,” replied Sherlock. “I know a bit about her, like the fact that Mary Morstan is a fake name, but I don’t know exactly what she was doing before she changed her identity. She may have good reasons to keep her past well hidden.”

                “And why should you protect her?” asked Molly. Only now did she start realizing that Sherlock wasn’t joking, that it was really his best friend’s wife who had almost sent him into grave.

                “Because she’s John’s wife,” answered simply Sherlock and he closed his eyes. Molly checked his pulse and drip dosage and she decided there was no point in fatiguing him even more with a conversation. The morphine was hitting again.

                “Get some sleep. I’ll be next door.”

xxx

                The afternoon was surprisingly quick and calm. As soon as Sherlock fell asleep, Molly saw the opportunity and laid next to him with a good book. John called after an hour, informing her about the detective’s absence, but the pathologist just sounded worried and said she knew nothing about that. It was easy to act while talking on phone, but even in personal contacts Molly had learned to lie better that anyone would suspect. She had no problem reassuring John that she had no news from Sherlock, at the same time putting her free hand into the detective’s curls. Just to check the temperature, as she kept saying herself.

                Some time later Sherlock’s protégée came and brought some clothes. He didn’t want to go until he talked to Holmes, so Molly hesitantly allowed to wake the detective. Billy passed him all the news and reported that he had put the armchair back and left the perfumes on a plain sight. When Molly asked what was going on, Billy explained that he had been at Watsons’ place before, so it wasn’t that hard to break in. Molly made a mental note to tell it John later.

                Everything went too well not to end with an argument. To be exact, an argument over eating. Molly was aware of Sherlock’s limitations in diet, so she left him for a moment and went to the nearest shop to buy some baby porridge. The problems started when she handed Holmes a full bowl. Sherlock, deep in thoughts, glanced at Molly questioningly.

                “What am I supposed to do with that?”

                “Well, make a deduction.” Molly gave him a spoon. “It’s quite obvious.”

                “You don’t really expect me to eat that, do you?” Sherlock looked down at the bowl’s contents with disgust. “The drip will do.”

                “They’re giving you food since yesterday, I checked,” replied Molly. “And yes, this is exactly what I’m expecting you to do,” she confirmed, sitting on the bed.

                “Why?” asked the detective stubbornly, mingling in the bowl with pained expression. “It looks as disgusting as the hospital food.”

                “Baby food rarely looks tasty, but this is eatable,” Molly reassured him. She had tried the porridge a moment ago and she could say it was only tasteless. And it was certainly a safe supper for Sherlock. “And you are to eat, because you need to eat regularly. And - I won’t let you go anywhere if you don’t eat that.”

                “That’s blackmail.” Sherlock looked truly scandalized, either because of baby food or Molly’s words.

                “Yes, it is,” Molly smiled sweetly. “Well, you wanted to go soon,” she reminded him. “And believe me or not, it tastes better when it’s warm.”

                Sherlock murmured something not decent, but he started eating. When he finished, Molly took his clothes from the bag. Like previously, she changed his trousers and then removed the hospital shirt. And then she froze, shocked.

                “Molly?”

                “Sherlock... What is this?” Molly touched one of a few long, narrow scars. She was sure Sherlock hadn’t have them right after the jump, she would have noticed. After all Sherlock had more than once walked around her flat wearing only his underwear. “Sherlock?” she asked again, when she didn’t get any reply.

                “You weren’t supposed to know about that,” answered Sherlock finally, sounding distressed. He shrugged under Molly’s touch.

                “I wasn’t supposed to know about what?” asked Molly numbly. She was shocked to see such marks on Sherlock’s back, the marks after... “What was that? It looks as if someone whipped you.”

                “Because someone did,” replied Sherlock, trying to sound unmoved. He shrugged again. Molly realized he must have been cold and helped him dress again. “I got caught in Serbia, I was careless,” he said after a while, buttoning his shirt. “Mycroft took me out and brought me back to London. I saw you four days later.”

                “And you never said a word...”

                “Why should I?” Sherlock was surprised. “If you are so worried now, I don’t want to know how you would have reacted then.”

                “So that’s why...” Molly remembered something. “You had a cut lip.”

                “Oh, no, that was John,” Sherlock corrected her. “He reacted... more violently than I expected.”

                “You didn’t tell him too,” guessed Molly feeling the wave of anger. She was angry at herself for not noticing anything, though she knew he could be a very good actor when he needed. And at John, because he didn’t notice too.

                “There was nothing to talk about,” Sherlock got angry, but Molly knew that he was trying to hide his discomfort. “I came back to London, I had a lot to do, everyone was happy... Oh, yes, I was under doctor’s care, if that’s what you want to know,” he added lightly.

                “But it wasn’t John.”

                “Molly, don’t make me repeat myself,” snapped the detective and he carefully leaned down his legs. “No, John didn’t know. After all, it was just a few scraps and cracked ribs, I had better things to worry about.”

                “Wonderful,” snorted Molly. “And this is just a hole in your liver, nothing to worry about, right?” she pointed at Sherlock’s chest.

                “Unfortunately this is much more limiting,” replied Sherlock and stood up. “Ok, I’m ready. We can go.”

                “Where?” asked Molly, dropping the subject. At least for the time being.

                “Leinster Gardens.”

                 

 


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as they went into the building, Molly congratulated herself for being so stubborn. Her inner doctor protested at the mere thought that Sherlock would spend here more time than necessary. Unfortunately she couldn’t push the wheelchair through the narrow, dirty corridor, so she had to let Sherlock stand up and carry the wheelchair.

                “You should be laying,” winced Molly, as she forced Sherlock to sit down and remade the drip. He protested a little, but soon gave up.

                “Believe me, you don’t want me to lay down there,” Sherlock waved his hand over something that looked like a dirty mess of blankets. He removed his phone and smiled as he saw a new message. “Finally! It’s time to call John.”

                When Sherlock was talking on the phone, Molly walked around what had remained of the house they were in. As she had learned on  their way there, Sherlock owned this place. Why did he have it, or how come he got it, she didn’t ask. But it turned out he treated this place as one of his bolt holes.

                “Go home, Molly,” said Sherlock when she got back to him. He must have finished talking to John.

                “That’s not what we agreed to,” the pathologist reminded him, but Sherlock just waved his hand impatiently.

                “John will be here in fifteen minutes, I will hardly be alone,” he pointed out. “Go. Please.” Sherlock still tended to forget that his charms no longer worked on Molly, “Honestly, you have nothing to worry about. I feel... fine.  John will be here soon and I don’t want him to know about your involvement. Not just yet. I won’t go anywhere,” he promised. “I have my phone, I will call for help if there’s something wrong.”

                “You sure? You’ll be careful?”

                “I promise.”

                Molly just sighed and checked one more time if Sherlock really had everything within his reach and whether his phone was charged.

                “Be careful,” she asked again and left. She was sure she wasn’t visible in her car, so she waited until she saw John getting out from a taxi and disappearing in the building, before she drove home. And still she couldn’t get rid of a feeling that something was about to go wrong.

xxx

                Molly expected Sherlock to get over with Watsons in about an hour, but it was almost eleven thirty when her phone vibrated on the table. And, despite her wishes, it wasn’t Sherlock, but Greg.

                “Hello?”

                “Hi, Molly,” said the inspector in a tired voice. “We found Sherlock, I thought you’d want to know.”

                Molly glanced at the screen just to be sure, but there was no new message from Sherlock. He didn’t text her like he promised.

                “Why didn’t he call himself?” she asked carefully, though she knew Greg would be surprised. She didn’t care right now. “Is he sleeping?” If Sherlock was resting, she wasn’t going to blame him.

                “He’s in surgery right now,” replied Lestrade and Molly stopped wandering around her flat.

                “What?” That was all she managed to choke out. “Why?”

                “The ambulance brought him less than an hour ago, they have taken him right on the operating table,” explained Greg. “Internal bleeding. I have no idea what’s going on in here, John didn’t explain much to me,” he added apologetically.

                Molly grasped the nearest chair in helpless fury. She couldn’t decide whether she was more angry or frightened. She had made a mistake...

                “He promised...”

                “Molly?” Greg’s surprised voice made Molly realize she had said that out loud.

                “No, nothing,” she quickly replied. “Tell me if he...” She was afraid to finish, but the inspector caught what she wanted to know.

                “Don’t worry, he’s under control,” he reassured her. “Nothing life-threatening, though John says there’s a possibility of an infection. Sherlock will be fine eventually, he always is.”

                “He’d better be,” hissed Molly. “I will kill him as soon as he’s standing on his feet,” she promised.

                “I will help you hide the evidence,” offered Greg, trying to lighten her mood a bit. “Don’t worry.”

                “I’ll try.”

                How could she be so stupid! Why did she think, naive, that Sherlock Holmes could be trusted when it came to his own health? After such a long time she should have known better.

                Molly wandered around the flat, not knowing what to do. She knew there was no point in going to hospital right now, she had already learned everything she could, and it was unlikely something would change in a couple of hours. Finally she decided to get some sleep, previously obliging Greg to call her if anything changed.

xxx

                On the next day Molly stepped into the hospital right after work. She was about to just pop by and see how was Sherlock, because she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to hold back her tongue, had Sherlock been awake and well enough to have visitors. As it turned out, Sherlock already had guests in greater amount than it was officially allowed. Mycroft Holmes stood by the door with an elderly couple, which Molly guessed to be Sherlock’s parents. All the three of them were discussing something with the doctor. Molly watched them for a moment from the other end of the corridor, feeling it wasn’t good time to interrupt.

                The couple disappeared behind the doors. Mycroft said something to the doctor and made his way towards Molly.

                “Hello, Miss Hooper,” he said coolly when he approached her. Molly thought that during these few times she had seen Sherlock’s brother, he always seemed either unmoved or annoyed.

                “How’s Sherlock?” she asked. “What about that surgery yesterday?”

                “The surgery was successful,” replied Mycroft. “There are minor... complications, but the prognosis is good. Right now my brother is being kept heavily sedated for his own comfort.”

                “Oh...” Molly glanced at the distant door, then at Mycroft. “I saw he has visitors... I’ll come later then,” she stated, ready to go, but Mycroft stopped her.

                “Miss Hooper... As much as your help was invaluable to my brother, I would prefer if you informed me about such actions in the future.” Though Mycroft’s voice hadn’t changed a bit, Molly felt a sensible treat. She lost her temper.

                “I made mistake yesterday letting Sherlock out of my sight,” Molly said quietly. She was sure that Holmes had already learned where Sherlock had spent the previous day. “However I don’t see why should inform you about anything. We are both adults, Sherlock and I, so whatever we’re doing, it’s our business. All I can promise is that I’ll be more careful next time.”

                Mycroft was completely taken aback by her reply. Molly thought that Sherlock’s older brother was used to obedience. Well, so here was his surprise. Maybe it had taken Molly quite some time to learn how to say ‘no’ to Sherlock, but once she learned how to deal with him, his brother made no impression to her. Not at all.

                “Anything else?” she asked coldly. “If no, goodbye,” she added and made her way to the stairs, leaving Mycroft Holmes in that rare state of surprise.

 

                 

               

.

 


	4. Chapter 4

                The hospital room looked the same like a week earlier, only the flowers wilted from the lack of water. Seemingly no one bothered to do anything with them, so neither did Molly. She only got rid of the worst flowers and then sat by the bed and removed a book from her bag. She had no plans for this afternoon, so she might as well sit by Sherlock’s side, especially when he was finally supposed to wake up.

                She managed to read a few pages when the door opened and John walked in. He kept a paper cup of coffee in his hand and he looked disheveled.

                “Oh, hello, Molly,” he greeted her with a tired smile. “I just went to eat something...”

                “Go home, I intend to stay longer,” answered Molly coldly, barely looking up from her book. She was still upset with John and with herself that they had let Sherlock overstrain himself.

                “I don’t really want to,” muttered John. “I should...”

                “Go back to your wife.” Molly spat out the last word as if it was poisonous.

                John stood startled for a moment and Molly felt his gaze on her. He finally got what she was saying and came up to the right conclusions.

                “You know.”

                “And you appear not to know,” retorted Molly and slammed her book. “What do you think, where was Sherlock before he met you at Leinster Gardens?”

                “How much do you know?” asked John. He must have realized he had left the doors opened, because he stepped back to close it.

                “I know enough,” replied Molly shortly. “Sherlock had to convince me he had good reasons to go out. And I was wrong, he didn’t have. I shouldn’t have let him out of my sight.”

                “Good God, so Sherlock was with you all the time? Why didn’t you tell us? We were looking for him all over London!”

                “Because this is what trust means. Why do I have to explain it to everybody? It’s a shame I was wrong trusting your sense,” said Molly. She couldn’t come to terms with this since she had learned how this escapade from hospital had ended.

                “Molly, I don’t quite see what you’re getting to,” said John carefully as he tried to hid a yawn.

                “And here’s the problem, John. You don’t see,” explained Molly. She had promised herself not to shout. “You’re a bloody doctor, I’m a pathologist! I deluded myself that you would keep an watchful eye on Sherlock! Tell me, how could you not notice he was so bad he needed an ambulance?”

                John sighed and hunched. He must have already thought about what Molly accused him of.

                “I was too confused,” he admitted. “When Sherlock called an ambulance, I stopped thinking about him.”

                “Sherlock. Called. An ambulance. For himself,” snarled Molly. “And that didn’t alarm you at all? I left him on a wheelchair, with a drip. I collected them yesterday.”

                “Sherlock used them to arrange the meeting,” added John weakly, rubbing his eyes.

                “And you assumed that they were just props? Sometimes I do understand why Sherlock complains that people are blind.”

                “Molly...” John tried to say something, but Molly didn’t let him. She was going to tell him everything she wanted.

                “You really don’t see. Do you know what Sherlock is doing since he came back?” The question hung in the air, but the doctor just stood silent, so Molly continued. “He’s trying to make up for those two years, to apologize.”

                “He certainly has a lot to apologize for,” snapped John.

                “And you have a lot to thank for,” retorted Molly. “Honestly, John, if I hear again that Sherlock doesn’t care about anyone, I won’t vouch for myself. Just look at the last months and say for yourself. If I told you three years ago that Sherlock would spend hours choosing church decorations, matching socks to buttons and flowers to dresses, you would have died laughing.”

                “Your point,” sighed John, but Molly wasn’t done yet.

                “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad Sherlock was your best man,” she said. “I just want you to truly see that this Sherlock who came back to us is not the same one you met, not even the same that jumped off the roof. And what I’m going to say sounds pathetic, but Sherlock proves with every step that there is nothing he wouldn’t do for his closest. And that is mostly you.”

                “Molly, I can see you’re angry and upset, but calm down, please,” asked John. “Don’t make scenes. The danger is over, he’ll be fine.”

                “I know, I’ve seen his card,” Molly cut him off coldly. “Oh, there is one more thing. John, have you ever asked Sherlock where he was during those two years? Did you see what he has on his back?”

                “I don’t usually see him naked,” John pointed out, but he sounded worried. “What do you mean?”

                “You’ll ask him later.” Molly wasn’t going to tell John what she had heard from Sherlock. She herself didn’t pay much attention to Sherlock during last year, because she was too busy trying to keep her relationship with Tom. She tried to prove herself that she had made the right decision and she would be happy. Only recently she stopped deluding herself. Right now, after the drug incident and then escaping from hospital, she realized she neglected this friendship. So did John.

                “When something goes wrong, it’s always everything at the same time,” sighed John. “I’ll be at Baker Street. Call me if you need anything.”

                “Ok,” nodded Molly and she went back to her book. John took his jacked and left. Molly hoped she made him think.

 

                It wasn’t even fifteen minutes when the doors were opened again. Molly didn’t react at first, thinking it was a doctor, but she soon realized her mistake.

                “Hello,” said quietly Mary Watson at the doorstep. “How’s Sherlock? Better?”

                “If you make one more step towards him, I swear I will call security and call the police,” hissed Molly, taking her eyes off the book. “Even if that’s against Sherlock’s wishes.”

                Mary frowned, surprised. She certainly didn’t expect such reaction from doctor Hooper.

                “Oh, so he was with you, wasn’t he?” Unlike her husband, Mary realized that more quickly. “Sherlock seems to forget that if he once said out loud he used your help, he won’t be able to repeat it so easily.”

                “He was able,” replied Molly. “Leave it.”

                “Sherlock has a good friend in you, Molly,” stated Mary, surprisingly warm. She didn’t come closer, as requested. “But whatever you think right now, I have no intentions to harm him. I never did. I’m sorry it went that way.”

                “You almost killed him.” Molly barely contained herself from shouting. She couldn’t say whether it was because of Sherlock sleeping next to her, or because of dark marks under the pregnant woman’s eyes.

                “I’m sorry,” repeated Mary and she sounded honest. “I didn’t intend to kill him.”

                Molly snorted. She didn’t intend to kill him, but she almost succeeded. Instead she made a hole in Sherlock’s liver and immobilized him for long weeks. Nothing Molly should worry about.

                “Go back to John,” she said, gaining a similar reaction like John’s half an hour ago. “And leave Sherlock. Once he’s awake, he will do as he pleases. Right now keep away from him.”

                “He really does have a good friend in you,” repeated Mary quietly, leaving. “I do hope he realizes that.”

                “You did the talking.” Molly heard Sherlock’s hoarse voice behind her and she almost jumped. The injured man was staring at her, but when he tried to say something else, he just started coughing. Molly changed the his position into more upward and gave him a little water.

                “How long have you been awake? asked the pathologist, when Sherlock regained his breath and was trying to find a more comfortable position. His gaze was a bit unfocused, probably form the morphine, but he wasn’t falling asleep.

                “I heard you scolding Mary,” he replied. “Unnecessarily.”

                “I don’t think so,” said Molly seriously, glancing at the monitors and wondering whether she should call someone. Then she saw a camera at the cellar and came to conclusion that she didn’t have to.

                “She saved my life.” Sherlock pointed out quietly, but Molly just laughed in disbelief.

                “When?” she asked, feeling that she was about to lose her temper again, though she thought she would be able to control herself with Sherlock after confronting John and Mary, and previously Mycroft. “When she shot you, or when she made you risk your health to save Watsons’ marriage? By the way, that was a mistake. I shouldn’t have agreed to that.”

                “She could have killed me,’ repeated Sherlock, though he didn’t sound so sure this time. “She didn’t. And she called an ambulance right after the shooting. If she hadn’t, I would have bled to death. She saved me,” he said one more time.

                “John believed that and you expect me to do the same?” asked Molly, just to be sure. Judging by Sherlock’s expression, she was right. “Bad choice of words, Sherlock Holmes. Spared you - yeah, she did. Saved you? No.”

                “Molly...” Sherlock tried uncertainly, but the pathologist knew he gave up on explaining Mary. “Alright, say whatever you want, but know that Mary won’t harm me.”

                “Who says so?” asked Molly, still not convinced. “You? Or her?”

                “Both of us,” Sherlock reassured her and coughed. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

                For such insolence Molly wanted to repeat her actions from their last meeting at Barts. Someone had to put in Sherlock’s head that firstly, his assurances weren’t enough to convince her to anything, and secondly, that he sometimes made mistakes. And that if someone cared for him as deeply as Molly did, a simple reassurance that his best friend’s wife wasn’t attempting on his life just wasn’t enough. Someone had to put that in his head - firmly and efficiently.

                “Are you going to hit me again?” Sherlock resisted neither asking curiously nor smiling widely in amusement. It sounded almost as if he was giving her his permission.

                “Not this time.” Molly disappointed him. “But rest assured, I will do it if you ever touch any drugs again,” she promised. “And no, morphine doesn’t count,” she stopped Sherlock’s hand as he tried to reach the morphine drip.

                The detective caught her wrist and turned it so he could see her watch. The time he saw surprised him.

                “Why are you here, not at work?” he asked, confused

                “It’s Sunday.” Molly informed him. Before he could protest or say anything else, she continued. “You had two surgeries, they kept you sedated since Thursday. Yes, these are the consequences of your escape.”

                “And you are still upset,” stated Sherlock, fighting with his eyelids to stay open. The conversation had tired him more that he would like to admit. Not that he was able to hide anything from Molly in his state.

                “Yes, I am,” nodded the pathologist and lowered his bed back again. “And don’t think I will easily forgive that, neither you or myself, but we’ll talk about it later,” said Molly more softly. “I think I should report you’re awaken since no one came,” she added and stood up.

                “Molly?” Sherlock’s sleepy voice stopped her in the doors. “Thank you.”

                “Don’t,” Molly cut him off before he could add anything else. “It wasn’t right thing to do. I shouldn’t have...”

                “You’re repeating yourself and you want me to repeat myself. I don’t like it,” groaned Sherlock. He gave up and shut his eyes. “Molly?” he asked again as the woman was about to leave.

                “Yes?”

                “Will you still have room for me?” The question was soft, almost shy. That must have been the morphine, thought Molly.

                “Don’t make me repeat myself,” she retorted, using the detective’s words.

                “Mmm?”

                “Always.”

When she came back a few minutes later, Sherlock was sleeping.

 

 

 


End file.
